


The Child of Gold

by LeDiz



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ed is still a hero, Gen, Role Switch, Unfinished, ed still annoys the hell out roy, the people's alchemist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 11:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7616941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeDiz/pseuds/LeDiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite it all, they gave him a title, one worthy of one of the Fuhrer’s little jokes, so not even the military begrudged it. The People's Alchemist.</p>
<p>or</p>
<p>Already a powerful alchemist, able to transmute without a circle, Roy Mustang searches for something that will help him win everything: the child of gold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Child of Gold

Despite it all, they gave him a title, one worthy of one of the Fuhrer’s little jokes, so not even the military begrudged it.

The People’s Alchemist.

It was a parody, a pastiche. Partly out respect for the boy—crushed under military traditions as they were, they would never think of doing otherwise—and partly to mock the titles Bradley gave out like medals. This was not a State Alchemist, claiming he worked for the betterment of mankind while really enforcing the government. He was theirs alone.

He was a rumour. A legend. Enough proof was scattered, enough corroborated witness statements given, that they knew he existed. That and the damage he always left in his wake. But the military had yet to actually find him, or even learn his real name.

All they had was his moniker, and a vague description.

The People’s Alchemist, the Child of Gold.

 

* * *

 

“Dammit!”

Since there was no one in the office to see, Roy flung his arms wide, scattering papers everywhere, before slamming both hands down on either side of the map. His office was tasked with finding the little troublemaker known as the People’s Alchemist and also enough leverage to ensure the damn brat signed on to the military for the rest of his natural born days. Or longer, if they could swing it somehow. But there wasn’t even a place for him to start looking – the rumours spread right across Armestris, in random places, with no clear direction or pattern.

It would have been impressive, if he thought it could possibly be intentional. The places the People’s Alchemist showed up were always places that needed intervention – but never places that would benefit from standard military attention. They always needed chaos – something to shake everyone up and make them start doing things for themselves.

His ability to always do that, even if he did leave utter chaos in his wake that the military had to clean up, was a beautiful thing. One which Roy would give anything to have in his command. That was why he hadn’t objected to the assignment in the beginning. If he could make the boy one of his…

But now, six months into the endeavour, it was becoming a moot point. He couldn’t bloody find the damn brat!

He glared at the sketch they’d compiled from witness statements, stuck to the wall opposite his desk. Blond hair, sharp gold eyes, a strong nose, a red cloak, and tiny. They all made a point of saying that – the People’s Alchemist was small, and not just because he was a child. He was smaller than his years, they insisted.

It was a lousy description, but it was all they had. Anything more was vague and contradictory. Some said he had high cheek bones, others mentioned a round face, while many focussed on his heavy set brows and still others insisted they were small and thin like a girl’s. Some reports mentioned incredible, clearly defined muscles, but that was unlikely in an alchemist of his calibre, and with the overwhelming emphasis on his tiny size, Roy doubted the reports to be more than hero-worship. After all, there was even a school of thought that said he was actually an underdeveloped she.

“Colonel?” Hawkeye rapped on the door in a perfunctory manner as she stepped through, focussed on her clipboard. “You have three hours in which to prepare for tonight’s festivities. I suggest you go home and begin now.”

He looked around at her in surprise. She was his subordinate, but she also ran the office with – well, her pistols, in point of fact. It was rare she allowed him to leave so early. She returned the look with a thin-lipped smile. “I believe we could all use the break.”

For a moment, he looked back at the People’s Alchemist’s sharp eyes, judging them and their value. Then he sighed and stepped back from the map. “Yes, I believe we could.”

 

* * *

 

A masquerade, but not a ball.

Roy frowned, contemplating the idea as he fixed his mask in place. It was a meeting of the minds, in truth, and he could see the appeal, for some. By wearing masks, they could give their honest opinions and suggest unpopular theories without reproach.

Of course, voices could still be recognised, as could mannerisms and stance. Not that Roy cared much either way. He had ceased having interest in alchemical discussions almost five years ago.

But he was still a State Alchemist, not just a colonel, and so such things were required of him.

The topic of nights like this, however, was almost always the same, and turned his stomach. Human Transmutation was the forbidden fruit, and all alchemists wanted it. Luckily, few were stupid enough to actually try.

Roy swallowed, pulled back his shoulders, and then stepped out of the cab.

The discussion tonight was lively and strong, though, perhaps made more interesting by a variety of newcomers that Roy couldn’t guess at. Most, he could guess, were simply State Alchemists from other districts, but there were also a few that didn’t seem the type. A young lady in sleek trousers, an older man in a robe, two men with slight accents that marked them as Eastern. There was also a young figure, draped in a black cloak with the hood pulled up. He couldn’t even guess its gender or age – the voice could have been a low-pitched woman or a slightly high-pitched man. Wisps of blonde hair sometimes escaped the hood when it gestured too emphatically, but nothing else showed.

Whoever it was, it was brilliant. It moved from discussion to discussion, never staying long enough to hear the roundabout arguments begin again. Whatever the topic, the figure quickly understood and would engage with the discussion, presenting ideas that seemed glaringly obvious after it pointed them out.

Towards the end of the night, though, Roy noticed the figure lingering near the figure Roy knew to be Shou Tucker. Roy didn’t doubt that discussion involved the differing methods to make chimera, and on nights like this, Tucker often raised the moral question of using humans in such experiments, and the possibility of creating a perfect human.

He left early, engaged in non-alchemical discussions of his own, with the new young woman in slacks, and he noticed Tucker had pulled the figure aside, and they were speaking quietly, closely. He shrugged and marked the figure as an extremely eccentric young woman who didn’t know she could do infinitely better.

Hours later, he was walking back from the young woman’s hotel—she’d been pretty enough, beneath the mask, but her intelligence was strictly restricted to book learning, and it bored him. He doubted he’d call her again—when he realised he was meandering down Shou Tucker’s street.

It was perhaps cruel, and uncalled for, given the man had been married, but Roy was honestly shocked to think the man could have picked up, this evening. Ah well. It took all ki-

A heart-wrenching scream stopped Roy in his tracks for a second, before he broke into a run, slamming his hands together in preparation. He didn’t know, didn’t care, what the scream had been a consequence of, but he was a soldier, an alchemist, and he wanted to be a good man. It didn’t matter if it was too late, he would help.

He made it to Shou Tucker’s gate, and had blasted the lock off when the door swung open, and a small figure practically fell out of it, stumbling to its knees and almost down the stairs before catching itself. Roy wrenched open the gate and started forward, but the figure didn’t seem to notice him until it ran straight into him and cried out again, almost falling but for Roy’s grip on its shirt.

“Hey!” he shouted, dragging the figure upright. Long blonde hair – the girl from tonight? “Hey, what happened?”

A shuddering gasp was his only answer, and the girl shoved away, stumbling again before taking off at a run out the gate. She was amazingly fast, considering how she was stumbling every few steps. It was only then that the smell registered on Roy.

“Blood.”

He looked down, and then flinched, horrified to discover he was covered in it. He spun around, but the girl was already gone, and though he suspected he could easily catch her, given how often she nearly fell, he was suddenly more concerned with making sure whatever caused all that blood wouldn’t do it again.

Besides, he though coldly, losing blood at that rate, it wouldn’t be long before she fell and didn’t get up again. He’d find her in moments.

He found Shou Tucker downstairs, twitching on the floor of his laboratory. Transmutation circles covered every surface, but the one closest to Tucker made Roy’s stomach turn. The remains of the cat were blasted across the floor, and when Roy kicked Tucker onto his back, he was cruelly satisfied to see the signs of a rebound. Stretched, mutated skin, bulging in unnatural places.

Good on you, girl, Roy thought. He didn’t know whether the girl knew what would happen if she left the circle mid-transmutation, but she had, and the natural result had occurred.

Roy quickly transmuted shackles from the floor to keep Tucker in place, then ran back up and out. He searched, but he didn’t find her, just a thick trail of blood that suddenly ended in a pool in an alley, extending out over a rough but effective transmutation circle.

She’d cauterised the wound and kept going, he realised, brow furrowing. Clever girl… but not at all helpful in this situation. She would die if she didn’t get to a real doctor soon. And they didn’t know what Tucker had actually been doing.

But it was too late for that, so he sighed and hurried back to the house.

 

* * *

 

It didn’t occur to him until much later, but it was almost eighteen months to the day, after that night, that they heard from the People’s Alchemist again. This time, the rumours mentioned a young boy with him, overprotective but ridiculously strong.

Not that it mattered to Roy. After the Tucker business, he’d been promoted and moved, and his jurisdiction was now just making sure Eastern Command actually ran properly.

It was harder than it looked, and required a ridiculous number of trips to Central in order to be told he was doing a fine job, except for this one little area…

He huffed a breath and threw back his head to instead gaze up at the ceiling, debating whether he should open his newspaper now or wait until he got on the train. Beside and a step behind, his second subordinate lit yet another cigarette and eyed the windows with a speculative frown.

“Looks like rain, Colonel.”

He glanced at the windows, unsurprised to see blue sky. “Be thankful. I’d rather rain than hail.”

“I wonder about that,” he mumbled, and Roy smiled despite himself. Rain meant trouble, which meant doing something aside from the constant monotony of running Eastern command, but hail… Hail meant real trouble. Action. Excitement.

“I’ve had enough hail for my lifetime,” he said, and didn’t reach up to touch his scars.

“Wait, I said!”

Although a lifetime of courtesy dictated otherwise, both men turned toward the noise, vaguely amused to see a stocky boy chasing after a small figure in red, whose head was pointedly hidden behind a newspaper, a heavy bag over one shoulder. It was a miracle the person could walk without bumping into anyone.

Finally, though, the figure reached the edge of the platform, and allowed the boy to catch up.

“Honestly!” he huffed, dropping his own heavy pack. “You shouldn’t walk around while you’re reading! You could have walked straight off this platform!”

“A meteorite could have fallen from the sky and crushed this whole station, too,” the figure said mildly. Roy found his smile fading at the voice. It was familiar… low and female or high and male. “You’re the clumsy one, Al.”

“I am not clumsy!” he snapped. “I fight and dance better than you!”

“But you _walk_ like a drunken marionette.” Finally, the paper lowered, revealing a boy – no, young man – no, boy, no… Roy frowned. His face was contradictory, all sharp lines but round edges. It was made worse by his long, blonde hair, pulled back in a messy plait. He couldn’t pick the… boy’s… age, or anything truly particular about him, except his sharp eyes, and an overarching impression of gold.

Something about that tickled the back of his mind, but he still looked away before the boy could notice him staring.

“Whatever you think of how I walk, you’re the accident prone one,” ‘Al’ accused. “I wish you’d stop making it so easy for yourself to get into trouble!”

“And I wish you would stop nagging me like a mother hen!” he snapped back. “Winry isn’t as bad as you!”

“Then maybe you’d prefer I took to her methods?” he asked. “A wrench to the head might knock some sense loose! Not to mention it might be the only thing you wouldn’t avoid!”

“Arghhh!” The boy folded his paper and waved it around, as if shooing the topic off. “I said I was sorry.”

“It’s not about you being sorry!” he shouted, and the other immediately gave him a sharp, if slightly shocked, look.

“Al!”

He gestured to their surroundings, and Al blushed, immediately lowering his voice out of their hearing. Roy glanced back at Havoc, who raised his eyes and curled his fingers around his cigarette without taking it from his mouth. They were both intrigued and there was no reason to be.

The discussion, which seemed to be an old one, continued quietly until the train came, and they only heard a few scraps of sentences when Al spoke too loudly. The other boy mostly ignored him, pretending to focus on his newspaper, even as they stepped onto the train. In silent agreement, Roy and Havoc followed to sit down on the seat behind them, and were amused to discover the argument had moved on to Al’s habit of adopting stray cats.

But, as arguments often went, that didn’t actually seem to be the real topic, and eventually the boy in red stood up, throwing up his arms and stalking out of the carriage. Al sighed heavily, his head flopping back on the seat until it almost hit Havoc’s shoulder. A perfect opportunity if Roy ever saw one.

“Little brothers, huh?”

The boy flinched, twisting around. “E-excuse me?”

He smiled, turning to show the good side of his face. “Your little brother is quite the free spirit.”

“O-oh, no, you misunderstand,” he said with a weak smile. “He’s my older brother. But yes, he can be… temperamental. Sorry if he disturbed you.”

The fact Al had been making more noise was quietly swept under the rug, as both Roy and Havoc blinked in surprise.

“He’s older?”

“But he’s so tiny,” Havoc added, and the boy laughed.

“Oh, yes. I know he doesn’t look it… or act like it,” he added mulishly, “but he is older. I wouldn’t mention it to him, though – he’s a little sensitive about his height.”

“Well, if you’ll forgive me saying so, teenagers often are,” Roy pointed out, and turned around to look at him properly. Al stiffened at the sight of his scars, but then forced himself to relax, and his smile soon returned. Roy wasn’t sure whether to give him credit for it or be annoyed, so in the end he ignored it. “Aren’t you both a little young to be travelling alone?”

“Well, I might have thought so,” Al agreed, glancing back at the carriage door. “I’m only thirteen, you see, and Brother’s fourteen. But he’s been doing this for years now, and if Mother didn’t give him permission, he’d just run away anyway. So it’s a little different.”

“The wandering type, is he?” asked Roy, and Al winced.

“It’s hard to say, sometimes. Say, might I ask… are you Colonel Mustang? The Flame Alchemist?”

He smiled wryly. “Hard to imagine another person with such infamous scars.”

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “The reason I ask is… well, my brother and I are a- interested in alchemy, and the rumours say you can transmute without a circle.”

“The rumours don’t lie about _that_ ,” he said lightly. “But really, my specialty has always been atmospheric conditions. What area are you interested in, exactly?”

“Oh, well, I enjoy the organic field, in all aspects, though I suppose it’s more socially acceptable to limit myself to plantlife,” he said, shrugging it off. “Brother’s… well, honestly, I think Brother loves alchemy for the science. He’s intrigued by any kind of theoretical concept, and the sheer possibilities of alchemy as a whole… I think limiting him to any one field would be boring.”

“He wouldn’t be the first,” he said. “But I’ve found that generalising tends to stunt the growth.”

“Oh, not with my brother! He’s –” Al cut himself off when the door opened again, his brother returning with a bag from the food cart.

He glared at Al as if to remind him he was still mad, then met Roy’s gaze, one eyebrow rising ever so slightly but giving no other reaction. It was the tamest response he’d ever seen, and he found himself blinking back.

“Found a friend, Al?” the brother asked evenly.

“This is Colonel Mustang! You know, the Flame Alchemist!”

“Mustang, huh?” The Brother flopped down on the seat beside Al and fixed Havoc with a direct look. “And you?”

“Second Lieutenant Havoc,” he said, touching his eyebrow, and the brother nodded back.

“Huh. You know, I thought Mustang was the one trailing that People’s Alchemist guy,” he commented, and Al blinked, then immediately looked at Roy again in shock.

“Really?”

“Almost two years ago, yes,” he said, frowning as that tick at the back of his mind kicked in again. “I was transferred to Eastern Command, though.”

“Oh yeah, that Basque Gran guy’s doing it now, right? What happened? You catch him and let him go or something?”

“We weren’t trying to catch him!” he laughed. “The military has only ever wanted to talk to him. He manages to do a lot of our work for us, after all.”

“He’s great,” Al said enthusiastically. “All those people he’s saved, and the changes he’s made? It’s incredible!”

Roy kept his eyes fixed on Al, but he couldn’t help notice his brother blushing a little. “A fan, I take it?”

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t say ‘fan’,” he said awkwardly, glancing at his brother with a grin. “I admire him, but I don’t really think it’s his place to be doing that sort of thing. I’m sure the military could handle it if he didn’t get in there first.”

“Then they should have already,” his brother said firmly, then looked at Roy again. “You didn’t answer my question.”

He waved it off with an imperious hand. “Hardly anything so grand as treason. I was simply promoted out of the position.”

“To Eastern Command,” he noted. “Wouldn’t’ve thought there was much to do out there.”

“I keep busy,” he said, and then folded his arm over the back of the seat to look at him directly. “I’m sorry, it suddenly occurs to me that we gave you our names but were rude enough not to ask yours.”

“It’s not rude. Why ask a name you might never speak again?” he replied, and Roy narrowed his eyes.

“It’s common courtesy, and I ask your forgiveness as well as your names.”

“I’m Al,” Al said brightly. “Alphonse Elric.”

Again, Roy watched Al, but could see the brother close his eyes in quiet annoyance. As he’d suspected – the boy didn’t like the idea of giving out his name, or perhaps even speaking to people he didn’t know.

“Ed,” the kid said finally. “So. I’m strapped for cash these days. How good does the military pay when it’s feeling generous?”

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve yet to see the day!” he said with a laugh. “Besides, you’re a little young to be enlisting.”

“Maybe I’ll become a State Alchemist like you, Colonel,” he said, all white teeth and bright, angry eyes. “No age restriction there.”

“Ah, a man with aspirations,” he said, matching the tone with his own. “What brand of alchemy do you study?”

“C’mon, Colonel, I’m just a kid,” he said dryly. “C’n barely transmute water into steam.”

“Ahh, the sound of a bitter drop-out,” he teased, and Ed grinned back even wider.

“I failed the interview. Mad, they called me!”

“Oh, Brother, they did not!” Al cried, then looked at the two men. “They didn’t. _He_ didn’t. Drop-out, I mean. He never tried to become a State Alchemist. He’s just teasing you, sir.”

Roy smiled gently, and Ed rolled his eyes before turning away to stuff a meat bun in his mouth. The colonel waited until Al had started babbling to Havoc about how terribly boring trains could be, then leaned his arm a little further over the seat. While his own height meant that he had to hitch himself up onto one leg to do it, Ed’s even more diminutive one, combined with the way he slouched, meant Roy’s elbow only just touched Ed’s shoulder as he leaned down.

“Mad? Well. You’ll show them,” he murmured, and then peered down over his cheek to see the boy peek up at him from under his eyebrows.

They both grinned.

 

* * *

 

Hours later, Roy stared at the sketch again. It hadn’t changed all that much, over the years. The hair had gotten longer, and was now tied back in a familiar plait. But still, all those important details that made a person’s face were missing. Just the sharp eyes, gold as pirate’s treasure, and the long hair, and the note about his height.

He hesitated, then tossed the file back on the desk and leaned back in his chair, frowning at his darkening window.

It was somewhat gratifying that Basque Gran hadn’t gotten any further in finding the People’s Alchemist than he had, but at the same time utterly maddening. It had been three years since the first story about him was heard, and the idea of a mere child being able to slip through everyone’s fingers for that long was…

Of course, now that he had that guardian that supposedly followed him around, Roy doubted the People’s Alchemist could remain hidden for long. One person, no matter how distinctive his eyes and hair, could slip by unnoticed far more easily than two.

He tapped two fingers on the desk, pursing his lips. Basque Gran… a bitter, more twisted social climber he’d never met. True, Roy himself had aspirations to become Fuhrer, but he was doing it for greater reasons than himself. Basque Gran just wanted power. That was why he’d volunteered to take Roy’s place, even if it had been a sideways step, if not a demotion in task. He wanted the power that the People’s Alchemist represented. Not only was he supposed to be quite the alchemical genius, but the people adored him.

To have that kind of man answering to you… indebted to you… it was a kind of power that people like Basque Gran salivated over.

Roy knocked his entire fist against the wood and stood up, pacing over to the window. It wasn’t his business. Granted, he would like to think it was for better reasons, but he knew that he wasn’t so different to Basque Gran. He wanted a People’s Alchemist on his side, too. So who was he to worry for the boy – uh, alchemist’s sake?

“Forgive the intrusion, Colonel,” Hawkeye snapped out as she opened the door. He blinked and looked over his shoulder, but she didn’t meet his gaze, clapping her heels together in her most official stance. “I have some papers I believe you wanted.”

“Papers?” he repeated blankly. It was too late for her to be piling more work on him. In fact, what was she even still doing here?

“Personal leave forms, sir,” she said, and strode over to place a file on his desk, still not looking at him. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to leave for several weeks. My apologies.”

“Leave…?” he repeated dully, walking back to pick them up. He regularly whined about wanting time off, but he didn’t actually intend to do it, and she never took him seriously anyway.

“I took the liberty of booking you a ticket, sir,” she said. “You will find it enclosed. I have also set aside a set of forms to have Second Lieutenant Havoc accompany you, for your safety. However, as you will be on leave, I understand this may be unnecessary.”

He frowned, giving her a long, appraising look before flicking down to the train ticket. He gazed at it for a moment, then chuckled softly and set the whole thing down. “First Lieutenant.”

“Colonel,” she acknowledged, and spared him a swift smile before turning on her heel and striding out.

 

* * *

 

Izumi grunted, setting the cup down in front of him with a heavy thump. “I suppose you’d like me to say it’s good to see you again, Mustang.”

“Why say what the heart knows?” he asked smoothly, and she snorted before sitting down in the opposite chair with her own cup.

“The heart knows nothing. It only believes it knows everything. What are you doing here?”

“So quick to cut to the chase, my knowing heart bleeds,” he said, but left the games there, running a finger around the rim of his cup. They had met, and indeed found each other, through rumour. Both had the same ability to transmute without a circle, for the same reason, if not the same motivation. The shared knowledge of their own sins had made for a strong relationship, even if neither would dare call it friendship. It was more of a matter of trust than affection.

“I find myself in a moral dilemma.”

“Isn’t that what you keep the hawk’s eye around for?” she asked bluntly, and he grimaced.

“She would follow me on either path. It is not ethics that pauses me this time, but… dare I say it… a more human concern.” He looked up again with a slight frown. “Have you heard of the People’s Alchemist?”

“I have,” she said calmly, lifting her cup. “I have also heard that it’s no longer your concern.”

“It’s Basque Gran’s concern,” he said, lifting his cup to hold before his mouth. She didn’t respond, and he eventually set the cup down again. “I believe I may know who the People’s Alchemist is. I’m concerned about what will happen should Basque Gran find out as well.”

“Concerned your fame will be overshadowed?” she asked dryly, but he didn’t smile. She raised an eyebrow. “Is this concern for you, the alchemist, or the future?”

“Perhaps all three,” he admitted. “But, as I said, I may know who the alchemist is. I may be able to find him before Basque Gran.”

“And do what?” she asked. “Make him a dog like you? Your dog, perhaps? Or would you just keep him safe, locked away to share only his secrets with you?”

“Or perhaps simply tell him to leave,” he added absently, staring down at his cup. “Do his work in a country better suited to vigilantism.”

“A moral dilemma indeed,” she agreed, but before she could comment any further, the door opened, and a young man entered, wearing nothing more than a loose pair of slacks. For a moment, Roy was distracted, caught by the sight of such heavy muscles on a surprisingly tiny frame, as well as a bulky automail arm lined with strange scars that ripped across his chest and back. Then the golden hair caught his eye, and he looked up at the familiar face.

Luckily, Ed seemed far too tired to notice him. He merely grunted a potentially polite greeting to Izumi, focussed on dragging himself to the icebox. Izumi didn’t respond, silently drinking her tea, and Roy was given free reign to stare in open disbelief as Ed poured himself a glass of water, chugged it down, and then trudged back out of the kitchen, grunting something about a run.

Automail. Clearly to replace an arm that had been very violently removed. He would never have guessed, looking down at the cocky boy who had cracked dry jokes, impatiently tolerated his younger brother’s meddling, and glared at everything.

Also, slightly more distressing, he was here. In Dublith. Where Roy had come to decide whether or not he should track the boy down as the People’s Alchemist.

“That…” he said awkwardly, and Izumi set down her cup.

“A student of mine. He comes to me for martial arts training.”

“That,” he said again, more firmly, and she opened her eyes.

“We also discuss alchemy, but he is not my students in that Art. He could have used teaching when younger, but it’s too late for that now,” she said, and then shook her head. “Still. A teacher is mostly there to ensure a proper moral outlook on the Art. His family seemed to provide that. His intelligence did the rest.”

“That,” he said finally, pointing back toward the door, “is the child that in three years, has done more to change this country than the military has managed in twenty! He has single-handedly solved over two dozen major conflicts and caused countless minor altercations that have the military scrambling to catch up to him! I have been looking for him since he first appeared, why didn’t you tell me?”

She met his gaze with a dark but even glare. “Sit down, Mustang. You are a guest in my house, and there is no military here.”

He blinked, suddenly realising he was looming over the table, and sat down with a thump. “How do you know him?”

“We met, coincidentally, two years ago, in a tavern that was held up by bandits. Neither he nor I were in the mood for such trivialities and so fought back. I was impressed by his alchemy, as he was by my martial arts. We talked, and he asked to become my student.”

“Your martial arts?” he repeated, confused. “You didn’t fight with alchemy?”

“He used it first,” she said, and narrowed her eyes. “A twelve year old child, using advanced alchemy quickly and efficiently, in a battlefield situation. That’s not just impressive, Mustang, it’s horrifying.”

He hesitated, not entirely sure how to respond to that. He wasn’t sure, but he had the impression she was horrified by it for many more reasons than the basic idea of a child genius. He glanced back at the door. “Is it true he can rebuild an entire building with only one transmutation?”

“He can,” she acknowledged, and waited for him to meet her gaze again before continuing. “He can rebuild an entire tavern from its burned ashes with one single circle. That’s not genius, Mustang. That’s _power_. It’s only genius that can keep up with it.”

He leaned back in his chair, beginning to catch on. “The gate. You don’t want him to learn of it.”

“It will not learn of him,” she corrected coldly, and he bowed his head in concession. If the things that lived in the gate ever found out about a creature with such power, they might not stop until they got him. And he didn’t know where that would end – he didn’t want to know.

“I’ll not use alchemy without a circle in front of him.”

She snorted and snatched up his empty cup, swinging out of her chair to refill it. He paused, considering dark possibilities for a moment before looking up again.

“It’s unusual for an alchemist to voluntarily want to hone his body, unless his brand of alchemy uses it directly,” he added, inwardly cringing at the thought of the Strongarm Alchemist. “Did he ever tell you why?”

“Fool. You think the military is the first force to try to use him for their own ends?” she asked, then smirked. “Take away the fingers they draw a circle with and most alchemists are useless. Edward is an idiot, but no fool.”

“I suppose he learned from the first arm he lost,” he observed, but she shook her head.

“He had two flesh arms and very few scars when I first met him. He claims he lost the arm in a train accident,” she said, but the expression on her face told him exactly what she thought of _that_ story. “He’s been coming back here quite often, these past six months since he learned to use his automail comfortably, trying to learn how to fight again. His brother refuses to spar with him.”

“Who wouldn’t, going up against that?”

She smirked. “He refuses because he believes that if his brother is incapable of fighting well, he will stop doing it.”

“A wishful thought,” Roy chuckled, but it quickly faded. “In the military, it’s assumed that a man fitted with automail will not be fit for duty for three years. Two at the inside.”

“He is a determined child,” she said, and then came back over to hand him his cup again. “I’ll tell you now, Mustang. I will do everything in my power to ensure you do not recruit him.”

“Oh?” He set his chin on the back of his fingers, not really challenging but amused. “And if he wants to, how will you stop such a determined child?”

“Simple. I can call his mother.”

 

* * *

 

“Quite the coincidence, you showing up like this.”

Roy looked up from the transmutation circles he’d found scattered across a desk in the back room, and smiled wryly. “Some might call it fate.”

“Others would call it a set-up,” Edward replied coolly, but he stepped into the room anyway, still towelling off his hair. He’d clearly just come back from a bath, and was wearing only a pair of briefs. His scars glowed red, still overheated from the water. “Thought Basque Gran was the one chasing me down.”

“You?” he asked, and twisted his smile at Edward’s direct look. “Are we not playing games, today?”

“It gets old sometimes, and Teacher told me why you’re here,” he said, moving over to the familiar pack lying across the end of one of the beds. “Besides. It’s not like I’m actually trying to hide from you guys.”

“Just your name,” he noted, and the boy frowned.

“A name can be traced back to a family.”

Roy smiled softly. “And a family can give away a name. Didn’t you explain this to him?”

“To Al? Hah!” He yanked on a pair of leather trousers and did them up almost as quickly. “I tell him watch where he’s going and he shoves my arm in my face. Damn brat.”

He paused, glancing over in time to see the last of the automail disappear beneath a long-sleeved shirt. “If you don’t mind me asking…”

Ed frowned, glancing at him over his shoulder, then shook his head and turned away. “Train accident. I was messing around with Al and my sleeve got caught on the tracks.”

“And that ripped your arm out of its socket?” he asked dryly.

“Well, sure. I pulled, the train pulled… I got the body, the train got the arm. Only fair, I suppose.”

“I suppose,” he agreed, then turned to sit down on the second bed. “Has anyone actually bought that story?”

Ed gave him a quick look. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“For one thing, it’s implausible to lose your arm in a train accident. I would have blamed Ishbahl. For another, those scars hardly match with the tale.”

“Huh. Okay, Ishbahl it is,” he said, and then moved over to the desk.

Roy waited a few moments, then sighed. “I would like the real story in return.”

“Yeah, I bet you would.”

“I have all week.”

Ed paused, his hands lingering on the circles he’d apparently drawn. “I bet you do. You can’t tell Teacher. Or anyone in this house.”

“Afraid you’ll be avenged?”

“Little late for that, but yeah,” he said, and went back to the papers. “You should know already, Colonel Mustang. You were there. Remember Shou Tucker?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> The 48 are a collection of unfinished fics saved on my hard drive. This one has been sitting in this state since 2010.
> 
> It's totally up for adoption if anyone wants it, 'cause I have no idea where I was going with this.


End file.
